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SONGS OF 
A GOLDEN AGE 

AND OTHER POEMS 
ELIZABETH F. STURTEVANT 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1916, by Elizabeth F. Sturtevant 



All Rights Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 

JUN 19 1916 



)ciA4;nr)56 



CONTENTS 

An Angel's Sorrow 7 

An Alabama Pine lo 

"^ To the Poet of the Future 1 1 

A Dream 12 

"On Earth Peace" 13 

Questions 14 

The Mocking-Bird 15 

The Last Time I Saw Lincoln 16 

The Portraits of Lincoln 17 

Lines 18 

The Old House 20 

The Mauvaisterre and the Chickasabogue 21 

Two Sonnets 23 

The Last Camp Fire 25 

The Magic of the Chickasa 27 

The Laurel Crown 29 

Opportunity 30 

Violets 31 

Souvenirs 32 

Lines 33 

A Hazy Day 34 

Shadows 36 

Bells 38 

Truth in Art 39 

Faded Flowers 40 

Dreams 42 

A Severed Friendship 43 

An Hour's Reflection 45 

By the Lake 46 

Song of Spring 47 



CONTENTS 

Ennui 49 

Hope and Grace 50 

For Margaret 51 

Evening 52 

Wondering 53 

September 55 

October 56 

The Parting of Summer and Winter 57 

A Twilight Song 59 

Indian Pipes 60 

A Dream of Spring : 61 

Roses 62 

Good-By 63 

Mountains 64 

She Heeds me not 66 

Cheerful Verse 67 

Genius 68 

Brilliancy 69 

Obscure Verse 70 

A Doubt 71 

Dreaming and Doing 72 

To-Day 73 

Fire and Cloud 74 

Birds 75 

All shall be well 76 

Consecration 77 

A Prayer 78 

Coming Home - 79 



SONGS OF A GOLDEN AGE 



AN ANGEL'S SORROW 

Once in a dream I thought that from a hill 
I looked across a landscape wide and still. 

As slowly up the hillside twilight crept, 
An angel came to me; I thought he wept. 

Turning to those far fields he gave a sigh, 
And when I queried, thus he made reply, 

"I trod earth's hills and vales long since, a youth. 
And prayed, 'Give me, my God, to know Thy truth,' 

"Great thoughts, indeed, the Father brought me 

then, 
And said, 'Bear thou this message unto men.' 

"The vision long I pondered in my heart. 
Dwelling in silence, from my kind apart. 

" 'How exquisite,' I said, 'how pure and fine, 
The form fit such a treasure to enshrine.' 

"In patience I endured, and slowly wrought 
While still the truth grew greater in my thought. 

"At length I sought the haunts of men once more, 
And in my hands the written message bore. 

"As through the streets I passed, now here, now 

there, 
I scattered leaves, just whispering a prayer. 



"Men gathered them, and pondered for a while 
With puzzled looks, then dropped them with a smile. 

"Still scattering leaves I wandered up and down. 
By wood and stream, still farm, and busy town. 

"When now, at last, more patiently some read, 
'He is a poet,' reverently they said. 

"The years passed on, and when my locks grew gray, 
'That is the prophet,' would the children say. 

" 'So wise his words, that few in all the land 
Can read the leaves he carries in his hand.' 

"I died. Mortals, to praise the dead too prone. 
Gave me high honors that I had not known. 

"I cared not, when they called me wise, profound'; 
I liked not marbles fair, with laurel crowned. 

"But eagerly men scanned the leaves once more. 
And sometimes solved a riddle missed before; 

"In part the message they received; in part 
Missed, and some human fancy took to heart. 

"Hidden within the form I long had sought, 

The precious treasure lay, of strong, high thought. 

"Men study still; some truth they win and keep; 
For truth which they have failed to find I weep. 

"Oh mortal! Pray thy God for thought divine. 
Simple, perhaps, which may fit speech of thine; 

8 



"And ask for words sweet, clear, and strong. 
Which touch men's souls, and with them linger 
long." 

As thus with solemn mien the spirit spoke, 
The vision passed away, and I awoke. 



AN ALABAMA PINE 

Think you yon stately pine, that rises tall 

And straight, and lifts a feathery top on high 

So far above his fellows of the wood, 

Has ever grieved because he stood alone, 

Or longed to stoop from his proud height, to be 

Just one among the common forest throng. 

That lock their swaying boughs with whispers low 

And rustling murmurs all the summer day, 

And through the night in solemn silent shade 

With speechless patience wait the coming dawn? 

It may be so. And yet are not the winds, 

Whose course is under heaven's wide arch, his 

friends ? 
His hands they grasp and breathe their mysteries. 
The prophecy of wonders that shall be. 
His watch through long and lonesome nights he 

keeps ; 
He notes the dawn's first gleam; while darkness 

rules 
The wood, his brow he raises to the light. 
And murmurs joyously, "The day, the day!" 
Though dull and doubting ones reply, "Not yet," 
And ever downward on their shadows look. 
What matter, since the light of God is his? 
Enough for him if, at his feet, meek eyes 
Of faith the violet lifts, and odors sweet 
Sheds from her purple cups to greet the dawn. 



10 



TO THE POET OF THE FUTURE 

Sweet singer of desired and distant years, 

I know not when your glorious day will rise ; 

I may not hope your songs will greet my ears, 
That crimson dawn, my eyes. 

But I am sure that one glad note will ring 
From vale to rocky hill, from sea to sea; 

One joyous carol you will make and sing. 
Oh, sing aloud for me! 

For we, the weary watchers of a night, 

Watching the stars move on, which lead at last 

The dawn, chant, while we wait, lays rude and slight, 
And wish the darkness past. 

The burden of our dull, imperfect song 

Repeats, "The day is coming, dawn will break;" 

But when the morning shines for which we long. 
Fit greetings you will make. 

Our hymns of hope now low and wearily 

Break from the shadows where our watch we keep ; 

Your voice will ring aloud to land and sea. 
When we shall be asleep. 

Your songs, more sweet, more full than ours, will 
hail 

The dawn on earth of brotherhood and peace, 
Unclouded light of love that cannot fail. 

And joy that shall not cease. 



II 



A DREAM 

I thought that when my feet had trod 
For many days the hills of God, 
I came to this dear earth again, 
And dwelt among the sons of men. 

The people were at peace ; the land 
Richly bore fruit; th^re men more grand 
And fair than I had known I saw; 
And justice ruled, for love was law. 

A sweet nobility and grace 
Surrounded those who held high place. 
"Surely," I thought, "I shall find here 
My countrymen and kindred dear." 

"These noble ones, who may they be?" 
I asked of one that talked with me. 
"Bear they, perhaps, the honored name 
Of Anglo-Saxon, old in fame?" 

"That name," he said, "earth knows no more, 

And little heed men race or shore. 

To him belongs the highest post 

Who loves and serves his brother most. 

"Yet dry thy tears, nor deem unblest 
Thy countrymen. From East and West, 
From North and. South, hast thou not known 
That our dear Lord would call his own?" 



12 



"ON EARTH PEACE" 

When things look sadly wrong, 

And all the world awry, 
When evil days seem long, 

What may we hope for, you and I ? 

A haven where the soul 

May find peace after strife? 
Where from the weary roll 

Away the cares of earthly life? 

That peace we long to see. 

To find a heavenly rest; 
Yet pray that earth may be 

With such high chrism supremely blest. 

A hard, sad creed denies 

To man an upward trend ; 
And sees, with mournful eyes. 

His course slope downward to its end. 

Hark! "On earth peace!" Our ears 
Catch the sweet notes that fall ; 

A voice, across the years. 

Through earth's loud tumult sounds recall. 

He speaks, the Lord of men, 

Who once made all things "good." 

Shall He not lift again 

Our race to holy brotherhood? 



13 



QUESTIONS 

If yet the splendor of an age of gold 

Upon the darkness of this world shall dawn, 

Will all our cares and sorrows manifold 
Be from our lives withdrawn? 

Shall there not be for every virtue space, 

And all that goes to make a strong, true soul? 

For toil and patience shall we find no place? 
For will, and self-control? 

May then the joy of service, of renown 
Unsought, no more be granted to the wise? 

Shall we no longer find love's richest crown, 
Thenceforth, in sacrifice? 



14 



THE MOCKING-BIRD 

Not only in the glowing sunny days 
Our sweetest southern warbler sings. 

From night's dim silence breaks his song, 
Through watching pines it steals along, 
And bears a dream of dawn to woodland ways, 
Which answer with soft whisperings. 

So sings the poet of the people's heart. 
When sorrow's dusk and silence fall, 
The spaces of our thought he fills 
With music, waiting souls he thrills 
With visions, which shall never more depart, 
Of good times coming for us all. 



15 



THE LAST TIME I SAW LINCOLN 

Our village chorus in the early spring 
Of sixty gave a concert ; thither came 
A little company of Springfield friends. 
The air was full of doubtful wonderings 
And murmurs of the coming days; "Who now," 
Men asked, "shall lead us?" and in undertones 
Some answered, "Lincoln, may it not be he?" 
Mingling with questionings like these the thought 
Of freedom stirred our hearts, while rang the notes 
Of Verdi's chorus wild, "O! Hail us, ye free!" 

The song was done ; a whisper in my ear 
Said "Lincoln is in the house." I looked for him 
With that gay party from his home ; not there, 
Far back I saw him standing in the crowd, 
Where his tall form was towering over all. 
It seemed as if unconscious of himself 
He listened and enjoyed, nor knew that he 
Was there the one great figure of the hour. 

I did not later see, as others saw. 
The president's dead face. My memory holds 
A modest, thoughtful man not yet aware 
How great his tasks, but strong in high resolve 
To stand "With firmness in the right, as God 
Gave him to see the right" unto the end. 
I looked upon him there and went my way, 
Not knowing I should see his face no more. 



i6 



THE PORTRAITS OF LINCOLN 

With eagerness the leaves I turn, 
And reverently the pages scan ; 
But this to me is not the man, 

More ardently the eye should burn. 

Not wholly thus do I recall 

The contour of the lips, and here 

I miss — what? Lines that would appear 

Just when he smiled? That may be all. 

The pose of that large head is grand ; 

The anxious brow, the care-worn cheek 
Are there — a shade too stern? I seek 

Some gentler line, touched by Hope's hand. 

He is not here, I look no more. 

And then the tablets of my brain 
I search, and seek his face in vain ; 

Dimmed are the lines those tablets bore. 

But as I think upon the night, 

When last I saw him, flashes out 
The scene before me; gone is doubt, 

His face once more revealed in light. 

Soon, like the face of him we call 

Our country's father, Lincoln's face 
In living memory no place 

May find, those outlines dimmed for all. 

Grant Thou, to whom for peace we pray 
And freedom, that while seasons roll, 
The image of that faithful soul 

With human hearts may ever stay. 
17 



LINES 

Written for the Fiftieth Anniversary of My Fath- 
er s Arrival in Jacksonville, III. 

(Nov. 15, 1829) 

The winter slowly yields to spring; 

By quiet growth, as still as strange, 
Late fruitage follows blossoming; 

With unseen steps the seasons change. 

'Tis pleasant, when the forest leaves, 

Golden and crimson, fill the air, 
To think how bright they were in June, 

And how in March the trees were bare. 

The man looks ever kindly back 

Upon the scenes of other years; 
And oft reviews the winding track. 

By which he came through joy and tears. 

And in the autunnn-time of life, 

How fine, when, looking through the haze 

Of fifty years of toil and strife. 
We catch a glimpse of early days. 

Let us hear it then, the story 

Of fifty years ago; 
The story of the journey. 

So toilsome and so slow; 
Of the peaceful Sabbath morning, 

And the folds of early snow, 
That were white upon the prairie, 

Fifty years ago. 



'Tis a story of hope, the story 

Of fifty years ago ; 
Of hope and of devotion, 

That shed the heat and glow 
Of morning and of spring-time 

Across the melting snow, 
And made a home on the prairie. 

Fifty years ago. 

On its hearth a fire was kindled 

Fifty years ago; 
And two sat there by the firelight; 

The fiercest winds that blow 
Could never put out the embers; 

We sit tonight in the glow 
Of the fire that burned on the hearth-stone 

Fifty years ago. 



19 



THE OLD HOUSE 

A sweet December day, with sunshine bright 
On fallen leaves and lightly frosted grass, 

On a small city fair in purple light, 

On barren boughs that, rustling as I pass. 

Give friendly greeting from the maple tree, 
And on the dear old house alone with me. 

Alone and still! What matter, since once more 
The old hou6e welcomes me with kindly looks, 

Regards me, as if memories she bore 

Of other days, and beckons me to nooks 

I loved and sought in olden times of glee? 
Sweet with the dear old house alone to be. 

Alone? And yet the tread of steps I know 
Seems through the shadow of the quiet halls 

To follow me. Out of the long ago 

Come whispered words, old songs and cries and 
calls. 

Here walk the spirits of the loved with me. 
Alone in the dear old house I cannot be. 



20 



THE MAUVAISTERRE* AND THE 
CHICKASABOGUE** 

( Mauvaisterre speaks) 
O swiftly flowing Chickasabogue, 

What have you done to me? 
White gleam the sands beside your wave, 
Which cools each brow that stoops to lave 
In that bright flood. How can a rogue 

And thief so lovely be? 

(Chickasabogue) 
O cold and muddy Mauvaisterre, 

What is my crime, I pray? 
Your rolling waters darkly scowl, 
While near you wintry storms still howl ; 
Snow fills the bitter April air ; 

What is your grief this day? 

(Mauvaisterre) 
O Southern stream, oft by my shore 

Wandered a maiden fair, 
A graceful youth, and one more mild 
Of mien, brown-eyed, a merry child, 
A matron sweet, a sire, who bore 

With youthful heart white hair. 



*The Mauvaisterre is a small stream of Central Illi- 
nois. 

**The Chickasabogue is a little river of Southern Ala- 
bama. 



31 



O Chickasabogue, the woods are still, 

Soft falls the April snow. 
And what will summer bring to me? 
What joy have I in flower and bee, 
Since by the stream and on the hill 

I miss the steps I know? 

Now far away among the pines, 

Near to the great salt sea, 
As summer comes, by your bright stream 
The boys and maiden sit and dream; 
For you with crafty dark designs 

Have stolen them from me. 



32 



TWO SONNETS 
I 

A PRESENTIMENT 

In those sweet days when winter flitted fast, 
And in her footprints bravely following, 
Arbutus crept and bloomed, as by the spring, 

And budding wood, and sunny knoll I passed, 

With gloom the world seemed strangely overcast. 
"Good-by," tall Southern pines were whispering, 
And oaks where yellow jasmines love to cling, 

"Good-by," the hills, whose blue seems sky at last. 

"Pale floweret, towering pine, yet tell me why 
These whispers of farewell." Blue smiled the 
chain 

Of distant hills ; low murmurs of reply 

Sighed sadly through the wood; I strove in vain; 

My heart gave answer with "Good-by, good-by. 
Not soon my feet shall walk this way again." 



23 



II 

THE FULFILLMENT 

Upon this Northern land how slowly crept 

The lagging spring, that seemed but dull and cold, 
To one who saw the opening year unfold 

Beneath a Southern sun ! How sadly wept 

The summer rains! The stars that nightly kept 
Their watch seemed changed. Splendors of red 

and gold 
In flowers I missed, berries of tints untold, 

White banks by swiftly rushing waters swept. 

The year moves on. Still in my prairie home 
I long for breezes from the Southern main. 

Blue hills, and towering pines, and flashing foam 
Of rapid streams, your place you shall retain 

Within my heart, though under heaven's wide dome 
I wander far, nor walk your way again. 



24 



THE LAST CAMP FIRE 

{To "The Najeh* Girls") 

Once more beside the camp fire, "Najeh Girls," 
You sit with us, and we must say "Good-by." 
The stars look kindly down, the same you watched 
In winter nights, when fires were burning low. 
Soon set for us these stars. Dimmer their rays, 
And paler, seen through mist that gathers thick 
And ever closer as the night goes on. 
Till in the morrow's dawning over all 
Will hang a veiling curtain soft and white. 
Then in the haze the oaks with giant arms 
Will raise their trembling lyres, and passing winds 
Strike out low murmuring melodies and chords 
Whose long vibrations thrill the souls of men, 
And wake to life old memories and dreams. 
That sleep — who knoweth where, or whence they 
come? 

But in that dawning you will not be here. 
Your faces, "Najeh Girls," will still be ours, 
A group of stars, a constellation fair. 
That glowed upon our winter skies, and passed 
From our horizon's bound. Still shall we seem 
Sometimes to see them, dim, perhaps, through mists 
Of memory, and haunting dreamy hours. 
When through the fading crimson of the west 



*The young women, winter visitors in the South, to 
whom these lines are addressed, form the word "Najeh" 
from the initial letters of their names, and call them- 
selves, "The Najeh Girls." 



25 



White gleams once more the evening star, or when, 
Breaking the quiet of a pale gray dawn. 
Soft winds wake murmurs from the oaken lyres, 
And whispering pines reply. 

Ah! "Najeh Girls," 
That your bright constellation might yet rise 
Again on Kushia, in our skies remain, 
No more from our horizon pass, summer 
And winter here within our circle of 
Perpetual apparition move. If this 
Might be, how swift in Kushia then the days. 
The night, how gay. Who knows the years that 

come? 
Or if the dreams we dream may yet be true? 
Once more, O "Najeh Girls," good night, good-by. 



26 



THE MAGIC OF THE CHICKASA 

The Chickasa, commonly called by the full Indian 
name, Chickasabogue (meaning Chickasa Creek), is 
a small swift stream of southern Alabama. Its 
waters enter Mobile River at Magazine Point. 
According to an old superstition, he who tastes the 
water of the Chickasa becomes so attached to this 
stream and to the region through which it flows, 
that, if he leaves them, he will always long to return. 

Bright Chickasa, what have you done ? 

What have you done to me ? 
You rushed and flashed beneath the sun, 

Along your way to the sea. 

You poured into the lily's cup 

A drop, as crystal clear. 
Was it meant for me? I drank it up. 

None saw save the wild deer. 

One drop from a cup of white and gold ! 

What magic touched mine eyes? 
A glory that no tongue hath told 

Hung over earth and skies. 

Upon your banks the sand lay white. 
Like heaps of northern snow; 

The air had a new life, the light 
Of davni a richer glow. 

I left your side, I wandered far; 

But weary grew my feet. 
No more I loved the northern star, 

The lands of snow and sleet. 
27 



By your white banks and flashing foam, 
Where stands the tall bright bay, 

And gentians find a winter home, 
Here ends at last my way. 

Great southern pines stand whispering, 

They whisper to ray heart; 
And wavelets murmur the selfsame thing, 

"You are ours, we shall not part." 

What have you done, bright Chickasa? 

What spell is on me cast? 
For by some wondrous mystic law. 

You draw me, hold me fast. 



2»i 



THE LAUREL CROWN 

In the fading gold of the sun's last light, 

A boy with laurel is at play ; 
The game is long, and swift the night. 

The buds and leaves he twines aright, 
And weaving watches the dying day, 
In the fading gold of the sun's last light. 

Will he wreathe his head with the garland bright ? 

Not yet. Far hence his feet must stray ; 
The game is long; and swift the night. 

The crown still haunts his longing sight. 

A youth toils on, nor finds delay 
In the fading gold of the sun's last light. 

A man, grown stern in life's fierce fight. 

Still reaches a hand for the laurel spray ; 
The game is long; and swift the night. 

Gray-haired and weary, with failing might, 

He grasps the crown ; then is away 
In the fading gold of the sun's last light. 
The game is long, and swift the night. 



OPPORTUNITY 

A flower of magic potency all day 

I sought, scanning the green world near my way, 

Of trees and lowly things, and vines astray. 

In vain the swaying branches beckoned me, 
With waving hands and blossoms fair to see. 
Oh ! finer far this magic flower must be. 

Morning and noon had passed. The hour grew late ; 
And still I sought with longing passionate 
The mystic bloom whose chalice held my fate. 

Then swiftly came one who had never sought 

This flower; content had tilled God's soil; nor 

thought 
His due reward greater than others brought. 

And as he ran, with sudden perfume sweet 

The air was filled; he checked his footsteps fleet; 

The flower was his. What then for me? Defeat? 

Wiser I go my way ; each lovely thing 

That blooms I pluck. What will tomorrow bring? 

Some day for me the flower of flowers may spring. 



30 



VIOLETS 

A lonely walk was mine to-day. 

Across the bridge and over the hill, 
Well knowing whither my feet would stray, 

I followed restlessly my will. 
And brought these violets away. 

I sought the violets where they grew 
In earlier years, on the northern slope. 

Sweeter their blooms, of richer hue. 
Than otherwhere. A dream, a hope 

Were served to me in cups of blue. 

I went alone; but else I deem 

The flowers I might have failed to find ; . 
Or plucked in haste, while flowed a stream 

Of merry wit, until I blind 
Returned without the hope, the dream. 

The violets of our thought bloom best 
Sometimes by paths we tread alone. 

A quiet life they need whose quest 
Unwearied seeks the far unknown 

Retreats, where flowers of truth have rest. 



31 



SOUVENIRS 

There comes at times a mist of doubt 

Between us and the things that were, 
Though memory brings her treasures out 

We look with faithless eyes at her. 
The faces we have known, in vain 

She paints, makes music in our ears 
With voices and with words that pain 
Us since they may not come again ; 

Like daydreams seem those other years. 

And then to quicken faith we long 

By means of things material ; 
The breath of flowers, some sweet old song, 

That may the distant hour recall ; 
What absent ones have touched to hold ; 

To read the lines their hands have traced ; 
Or following their footsteps bold 
Find carved upon life's mountains old 

Marks years and storms have not effaced. 



32 



Addressed to 



LINES 

My Brother. J. M. 
Eightieth Birthday 



S., on His 



When we in the long ago were young together, 
To me the years between us seemed full long; 

How short now, when through fair or stormy 
weather 

Our lives have sped away, nor know we whether 
You first, or I, shall hear the angels' song. 



33 



A HAZY DAY 

Dedicated to My Brother, J. M. Sturtevant, on his 
Eighty-First Birthday 

(Feb. 2, 1915) 

/ 
Sometimes in the hazy light that fills 
The world with dreams in quiet weather, 
I look across the lonely hills, 
And still and shadowy vales between; 
Beyond the clearings bare and brown, 
And tall pines looking gravely down 
On smooth and peaceful slopes, that lean 
Like friends of olden times together, 
To the woods that on the horizon's rim 
Stand in the distance blue and dim. 

And just beyond that forest line 

I seem to see wide fields of snow, 

And children playing in the fine 

And frosty air. Those prairies lie ' 

Hence many a mile; but in my dream 

How near, how strangely near they seem. 

I see the sleds, in a moment I 

With the others gliding seem to go 

Faster and faster down the hill. 

Through the gate, to the street, — the sleds are still. 



34 



The vision passes. Far away 
My home lies from the snows so dear 
To my childish heart. Full n\a.ny a day 
Has fled since from our later homes 
And lives those playmates^went, and we 
Still miss the faces that we see 
^ No more, and ministry that comes 
From love and use year after year. 
You wait for them by Erie's side, 
PFe three, where swells the great gulf's tide. 

Through gates of pearl from mansions high, 
Look those two forth, with wistful gaze. 
Who played with us? Perhaps they sigh. 
Grieving sometimes. Who knows if they, 
Amid their greater life above. 
With longing eyes and thoughts of love. 
Heaven's far horizon search today, 
While on them as through distant haze 
May break, like visions of childhood's mirth, 
Old memories of life on earth? 



35 



SHADOWS 

"Alas, how easily things go wrong, 

A sigh too much, or a kiss too long, 

And there follows a mist and a weeping rain, 

And life is never the same again. 

"Alas, how hardly things go right! 
'Tis hard to watch in a summer's night, 
For the sigh will come and the kiss will stay. 
And the summer night is a winter's day." 

Faerie Romance. 

'Twas but an hour of sin, 
Yet earth is changed for me. 

The shadows left within, 
On all around I see. 

Shadows in the well-known room, 

Shadows on the floor; 
Shadows in my childhood's home, 

Shadows round the door. 

Shadows in the streets all day, 

Shadows in the night ; 
Shadows when the sunbeams play, 

Brightest in my sight. 

Shadows in the face I love. 

Shadows in each smile; 
Shadows (5n the sky above. 

Shadows all the while. 



36 



These shadows all things fill, 
They're round me every day; 

And wander where I will, 

From out my heart they stray. 

'^Jan. lo, 1859. J. M. S. 



37 



BELLS 

A quiet night when winds are still, 
And starlight falls on field and hill; 
An hour of peace after the day, 
While bells are ringing far away. 

Still has this evening calm a spell, 
Like that which on a child once fell; 
Yet through its hush a sadness steals, 
As rise and fall those distant peals. 

To me a child in days gone by 
Those tones came like an angry cry. 
That sent a sudden thrill of pain 
Through deeply quivering nerve and brain. 

Bells bring no more that painful thrill; 
But they are full of sadness still. 
In gloom I hear through shadows gray 
The church bells ringing far away. 

The child grew faint not knowing why; 
And listening now no more know I 
How bring the bells with wailing tone. 
Once more all sorrow I have known. 



38 



TRUTH IN ART 

Grolden sinks the sun behind the west, 
Sending pallid gleams across the snow; 

Maple branches faintly flushing rest 
Slender fingers on the clouds; the glow 

Of the sunset kindly lingers, then 

Darkens into blue and gray again. 

Sketch a winter sunset, painter, lay 
On the canvas colors not too bright; 

Let me feel the quiet close of day. 

And the swift approach of frosty night, 

Till each sweet suggestion of the hour 

In my soul renews its magic power. 

Dreams I had that came and quickly fled. 
Cherished hopes that lived and are no more, 

High resolves that unfulfilled lie dead; 
Faith once showed a distant sunlit shore 

Green and fair beneath unclouded skies; 

Rising vapors veil it from my eyes. 

Give me these again, my poet; seek 

In your heart resolves and hopes of youth; 

In the glass of Faith beholding, speak 
Boldly out a vision of the truth; 

Till my soul her idle dreams lays by. 

Stands with will to suffer, dare and die. 

Poet, painter, give me all that's fair; 

Crown with pearls of word and rhyme your lay; 
Let the hazy glory of the air 

Rest on purple hillsides far away; 
Grand or sweet be picture, story, song — 
Let the light of truth burn clear and strong. 
39 



FADED FLOWERS 

In Memory of Mrs. H. M. Hinman. 

Just lay them away. In summer air 

These flowers bloomed and fragrance shed, 

And shone with colors fine and fair; 

Tonight they are withered and dry and dead. 

Yes, lay them away. That time is past, 
That hour whose memory is both sweet 

And bitter; there we cling too fast. 
From present duty oft retreat. 

You may lay them away. They do but speak 
Of a head and hand whose toil is done; 

But we must work, for few and weak 
The hands still bravely toiling on. 

So lay them away, and cover them well. 

We will turn to the world and work and fight. 
As brave, as earnest as those who fell 

Before us, whose faces we miss tonight. 

But put them as far away as you will, 

Shall we lose with these the thoughts they bring? 

Not so. Our grief will haunt us still; 

We may cover the wound, we shall feel its sting. 

Though you hide them away, we shall seek again, 
When you know' it not the withered flowers; 

The heavy sorrow, the bitter pain 

Will follow us still in our busy hours. 



40 



Yet lay them away. God give us strength 
To live and work and suffer and die, 

And help us to look in peace at length 
On the faded hopes that behind us lie. 



41 



DREAMS 

So strange are dreams, that if men are indeed 
"Such stuff as dreams are made of," then no more 
'Tis wonderful that men are strange, and life 
A thread that seems astray, whose tangled knots 
Vex our vain strivings, till death touches us. 
Looses the "silver cord," and gives us "sleep." 

For dreams are sad : they show us how we stray 
Afar from that fair spark of truth that once 
We thought to follow with our soul's best strength ; 
Show in a moment what we are; reveal 
The wrongs that we have done, and following them 
In haste their certain penalty. So sad 
These dreams, that when we wake and would for- 
get, 
They tarry with us darkening the dawn. 

Yet dreams are sweet: they bring again our 
youth ; 
The home we know no more; the fond and dear. 
Whose touch awoke in us our nobler selves ; 
They give us what we long for most, and leave 
Far and forgotten grief and tears. So sweet 
These dreams, that fain we would sleep on; but we 
Must wake ; and to us waking comes the pain 
And sense of loss that dim the day when first 
Returns remembrance, lost awhile in sleep, 
Of some sweet soul that lately left this world. 



42 



A SEVERED FRIENDSHIP 

I had a friend, — I call him friend, although 
I have not always loved him. Time has been, 
When we together daily wrought, for ends 
That to us both seemed worthy. Love for this 
Our work, and for the good we hoped to see 
Prevail upon the earth, brought sympathy 
Between our souls. 

But then we grew apart. 
He had an iron will, joined with some fierce 
And rugged quality, — whether of soul 
Or body, who shall say? Life was for him 
But one long battle every day renewed. 
Truth that to me was sacred he abhorred, 
And dashed himself against it, in the wild 
Unreasoning fury of a passion strong 
And uncontrolled. So less and less we sought 
Each other, went our ways alone, still kept 
Some kindness for the old time's sake, yet knew 
We could not be the friends that once we were. 

He died the other day, the strong old man. 

I'm glad I looked upon him lying there 

In his last sleep, which brought to him, perhaps, 

A calm he had not known in life. His face 

Was touched with gentler lines, as if in that 

Last battle's storm, the flesh that over him 

Had lorded it so long had yielded up 

Its sway, and given the struggling spirit peace. 



43 



"O friend," I said, "the years that parted us 

Pass out of sight. Your race is run, and me 

You have outstripped. A victor at the goal 

Of rest you stand, where through the gleam of gold 

And pearls, and in the dazzle of a day 

That has no night, I cannot see your face. 

Yet thither from afar with longing eyes 

I look, and pray, that yonder, where for me, 

Sometime, I know not when, shall dawn in peace 

The great new day, we may clasp hands once more." 



44 



AN HOUR'S REFLECTION 

On my acquaintance with Mrs. 

Something fair and sweet 
Fell to-day at my feet, 
Unforeseen, unsought, 
Treasure not to be bought. 
Dare I give it a name ? 
Pleasant all the same. 

Whose ? It looks too fine, 
Ever to be mine. 
Someone jealous? I 
Might just pass it by; 
Yet, if meant for me. 
Mine must it not be? 

Friendships under the sun 
Thrive. And just this one,- 
Some have many, 'tis true, • 
Mine have been but iew. 
If one falls to my share, 
Need they really care? 

Little thing, to be sure. 
Can it, perhaps, endure? 
Pretty, for an hour, 
Fading like a flower? 
Roses and lilies fall. 
What lasts after all? 

Yet for one day's glee 
Life may sweeter be. 
If my bubble break. 
Kind thoughts for its sake 
I shall like to keep. 
Soon we fall asleep. 
45 



BY THE LAKE 

I sat upon the shore of a great lake, 

Whose tossing surges break 

Close to a city's feet, 
And mingling with that never ceasing beat, 
Came up the voices of the crowded street. 

"Fair lake beside the mart," 
I said, "What bear you in your inmost heart?" 

And thus, I thought, the great lake answered me : 

"Hope for the days to be, 

I bear, and rising fears. 
And memories of all the bygone years. 
Of good and ill, joy, sorrow, love and tears. 

I keep all that hath part 
In the great city's life, within my heart." 

A wreath of foam on every curling wave 
Flashed white. So has some brave 
And loving soul a smile. 

To cheer the wayward world, and to beguile 

Its cares and anxious fears ; but he the while 
Its burden bears, with art 

Supreme hiding his sorrow in his heart. 



46 



SONG OF SPRING 

Sweet airs from sunny lands 

Steal to our northern clime; 
We think of bud and bloom, 
Of summer's golden prime; 
Of clouds that pass at dawn, 

Of night's still mystic hour, 
The pride and glow of noon, 
Of sun and shade and shower. 
Oh, spring is ever sweet, 
Is ever strangely fair; 
And thoughts of peace are borne 
On every stirring air. 

We think of Springs that came. 

And passed and are no more; 
We wonder if this year 

Their beauty will restore; 
We dream until the wind 
That goes so swiftly by 
Seems full of sweet regret. 

For all bright things that die. 
Oh, spring is ever sweet. 
Is ever strangely fair; 
And whispers from the past 
Come with each stirring air. 



47 



We think of springs to come, 

When we shall find with tears 
Some blossom lost from sight, 
That now our joy appears; 
We think of that fair spring, 

Which yet our souls shall see, 
Whose blossoms cannot die. 
Whose peace will endless be. 
Oh, spring is ever sweet, 
Is ever strangely fair ; 
And thoughts of endless life 
Come with each stirring air. 



48 



ENNUI 

Oh happy he to whom the world looks fair, 
Whose eyes behold the summer day go on 
In beauty ever new, from morning's dawn. 
Till evening builds her castles in the air. 
We grieve for that poor child who never saw 
The glory of the earth and sky, the light 
Of sun or star, or friendly face, whose night 
Yields not to day, heedless of Nature's law. 
And yet, — and yet, not eyes alone 

Can give the joy of being; 
We may look and look as the world goes on, 
And weary at last of seeing. 

And well for him who feels a fresh delight 
In all the music of this world, — -the beat 
Of ocean on its steadfast shore, — the sweet 
Wren's note, — the sounds that fill a summer night, — 
The sweeter, sadder voice of smitten strings, — 
The throbbing breath of flutes,- — the trumpet's 

call,— 
And from the organ's heart a song, than all 
More dear, that soars with prayer upon its wings. 
And yet, — and yet, with music's tone 
Come often thoughts most dreary; 
And listening still as the world goes on. 
Our hearts at last grow weary. 



49 



HOPE AND GRACE 

Birthday Verses for Two Little Cousins who bear 
these Names 

These two little maids, just eight years old 
Hope and Grace, if the truth be told, 
Ought to be worth their weight in gold. 

For often, we know, a gentle grace 
That carries its charm into every place, 
Is finer to see than the fairest face. 

And threatening though the storm clouds are, 
A hopeful heart bears its own star. 
That shines for other souls afar. 



50 



FOR MARGARET 

On her Eighth Birthday 

I saw in an early morning dream 

Some little boats on a quiet stream, 

And thought of the maiden, Margaret. 

She has launched her boat; the sails are set; 

The waves are tipped with the morning's gold, 

As she leaves the port of eight-years-old. 

She sails a stream of many days. 

May she safely float by pleasant ways, 

To the port of nine-years-old, and find 

A happy girl, with a wiser mind. 



51 



EVENING 

"A little while," whispered my heart, 

"Only a little space, 
To walk in patience and apart; 

See shadows gather on the face 
Of earth, the angry clouds arise. 

And through the sky, 

Go hurrying swiftly by, 
While daylight's latest glimmer dies, 

Yonder along the west; 
A quiet watch with weary eyes; 

And then the night of rest." 

But to my ear comes from afar 

The tread of an army fleet, 
Their watchword right, and peace their star. 

Awake, my wearied heart, and beat 
In fuller throbs! The way they climb 

The Christ has gone; 

Speak out to cheer them on; 
With some brief song of hopeful rhyme, 

Some tender strain of peace, 
Some word of truth with faith sublime, 

Before the day shall cease. 



52 



WONDERING 

I wonder what you'll think of me, 
What you will think and say, 

When I have passed away from life. 
As I shall pass some day. 

What shall I leave behind me then, 

That you will like to see. 
And what of all the work of life 

Will still live after me? 

My books, my music you will keep 

Kindly when I'm at rest; 
But other hands will touch the keys 

That mine have often pressed. 

Some other voice will read for you 
The books dear to your heart. 

Something I long to leave that makes 
Of my true self a part. 

Life hurries by, we know not how. 

Heedless we prattle on. 
Till weary, worn and faint at last 

We by the way sink down. 

At dawn, or in still starry nights, 
The great sad thoughts, that come, 

Who knoweth whence ? within my soul 
Arise ; my lips are dumb. 



53 



Shall I amid these restless days, 

So busy and so fleet, 
Some few brief tranquil moments steal, 

To utter something sweet? 

And though no words of mine may stand 

Perennial and strong, 
Will yet some heart awhile hold dear 

The memory of a song? 



54 



SEPTEMBER 

There's a chirping and a humming, 
Katydids and locusts drumming 
Everywhere ; 
There are whispers in the air, 
"Summer's gone, O summer fair! 
Summer's gone, and winter's coming." 

On the world there comes a feeling, 
Rest and calm content revealing; 
Yet,— Oh! yet,— 
Sounds a note of sweet regret 
In our ears. Who can forget, 
Summer joys away are stealing? 



5S 



OCTOBER 

Slowly fall the leaves of gold and crimson, 
As the kindly wind goes sobbing by. 

Patient Earth with silent grieving takes them- 
Bears them on her breast until they die. 

And the soul, immortal, looking fondly 
On the hopes that graced a vanished day, 

Sees her dreams turn slowly gold and crimson, 
Even while they fade and pass away. 



56 



THE PARTING OF SUMMER AND 
WINTER 

Standing at the door of gracious Summer, 
White-faced Winter, grave and silent maiden. 
Clasped her smiling sister's hand a moment, 
Looked at her with loving eyes and kissed her. 
Then the forest flamed with gold and crimson. 
Blue the haze hung over hill and valley. 

"Do not leave me," said the gentle Summer. 
"Cold your brow, my sister, I will warm you. 
Tarry, till you know how sweet my life is. 
Till upon your cheeks the roses blossom. 
Till your lips learn how to keep their smiling, 
And your joy breaks forth in ringing laughter." 

Sweet south winds across the fields were blowing. 
With them went the falling leaves a-dancing. 
But the white-faced maiden thus gave answer. 
"Well I know your heart is warm and kindly; 
Yet I may not tarry. Grave my thoughts are. 
And my dreaming is of cloud and tempest. 

"Life like yours is not for me, bright Summer. 
Not for me the sweetness of the south wind. 
Through my frame it sends a langour; slowly 
Throbs the pulse of life; upon my spirit 
Falls a weariness. If I should tarry, 
I should no more be courageous Winter. 



n 



"In the long nights while the stars are burning, 
Lonely I must think my thoughts in silence, 
Waiting dream my dreams, until the storm-wind 
Calls; then where he rushes I must follow. 
Cold I fear not, sister, and your darlings, 
Close and warm with drifting snow I'll cover. 

"I must leave you. But when days grow longer, 
And the snows are melting, I shall find you. 
When the clouds by chilly north winds driven. 
Send across the world their flitting shadows. 
Daffodil and Mayflower I will bring you ; 
For I iaiow at last my heart will fail me. 

"Kindly you will put your arms about me. 

Warmer on my brow will fall the sunbeams, 

Milder breezes from the south will wander. 

With the scent of early violets laden. 

Till I fainting, failing, slowly vanish 

From your sight, and Winter's days are ended." 



58 



A TWILIGHT SONG 

Calm comes, we know not why; 
Care goes to rest with the sun ; 
Pale stars from the misty sky 
Look quietly, one by one. 
Of a day that is done, what shall we say, 
In the hush that falls with the twilight gray? 

Will by and by the light 

Of life thus paler grow? 
In the peace of an autumn night 
Will stars in the gray sky show? 
Of a life that is gone, what shall we say. 
In the hush that falls as it fades away ? 



5Si 



INDIAN PIPES 

Fair, frail, and tintless flowers, your waxen bowls 
Droop from translucent stems of palest hue. 
In still ravines you hide from mortal view, 
Where maiden hair its quivering fronds unrolls. 
Where waves gay goldenrod, and clearly trolls 
The mocking-bird his song. Whilst over you 
The asters kindly hang their fringe of blue. 
Lower toward earth you lean, like stricken souls 
Hiding their grief. Arrayed in robes of white. 

You seem the gentle ghosts of flowers, that fain 
Would leave day's glare. So cherished forms untold 
Of hope and purpose, shrinking from the light, 

Pale, sad and dim, among bright thoughts remain. 
Shapes that once lived, and now are memories cold. 



60 



A DREAM OF SPRING 

One winter night, when wind and tempest rushed 

In fury over wood and plain, 
I had a dream of spring. The gales seemed hushed, 
Sweet fell the sunshine after rain ; 
In sheltered cove, 
That wild flowers love. 
By hill and grove, 
The violets swung their purple cups again. 

Heardst thou afar, my listening heart, the throb 

Of springing life ? So came before 
Mine eyes that vision fair, amid the sob 
Of winds and weeping rain ? Still more 
Rude storms the years 
Shall bring, with fears, 
And nights of tears. 
O heart, dream on! Life will thy spring restore. 



6i 



ROSES 

Three roses hung in a crystal vase 

Before a mirror clear; 
A finer crimson flushed each face, 

In the sunbeams straying near. 

And from the mirror roses red 
Looked forth and blushed. "I too 

Have roses rare," the mirror said, 
"What need have I of you? 

"Your crimson cheeks, why flaunt you here. 

So queenly in your pride?" 
The roses three dropped each a tear, 

And not a word replied. 

Before the angry mirror stood 

A dark-eyed girl that day; 
Her face above the roses glowed, 

More beautiful than they. 

A rose she laid in her shining hair, 

A rose upon her breast; 
And one she bore with gentle care, 

To the friend she loved the best. 

Then fled away from the little room 

The scent of the roses' breath; 
The sunlight faded till the gloom 

Was like the shade of death. 

And from the mirror's darkened face 

The roses blushed no more ; 
The form of a fair but empty vase, 

An image of death, it bore. 
62 



GOOD-BY 

Once more, good-by! A new, a sharper pain, 
A sting, this hour of parting seems to gain, 
From thought of farewells often said before. 
Whose lonesome shadow lingered at our door, 
And left a trace of gloom on heart and brain. 

The hope of meeting we, indeed, retain. 
Of meeting? Yet who can the thought restrain, 
"We meet to part, and say with grieving sore 
Once more, 'Good-by'"? 

For farewells follow us along the chain 
Of word and deed, joy, sorrow, sun and rain. 
That makes the sum of life, till on the shore. 
Where surges beat and wake no answering roar, 
We say, launching a bark on the wide main, 
Once more, "Good-by." 



63 



MOUNTAINS 

Something I thought to write in stately verse 
Or ringing rhyme, for the brave-hearted boys • 
And gentle girls, that long have loved me well. 
Then came before my mind a mournful train 
Of gloomy thoughts and memories sorrowful ; 
Forms grand and fair arose, that from my sight 
Had passed long since; among them flitting came, 
Bright in the hues of morning, visions sweet 
Of life grown rich in noble deeds, and truth 
Forever loved and sought. My eyes grew dim 
With tears, for what I had and lost, for what 
I had not done, and most of all for truth. 
That by my side unheeded oft had stood. 

Not so, my tears! Not here belongs the tale 
Of sorrow, failure, loss. Courage, young hearts! 
May God, in kindness, make your lives all bright 
With every joy. But if that may not be. 
Yet courage still! For swiftly moves the world, 
You with it. Just to be alive will be 
A glorious thing in those new days that come. 

Hereafter heights your feet shall scale that I 
Have never seen, and wonders you shall see 
That I have never thought. Science has peaks 
Of grandeur, which you with the rising world 
May well ascend, and if you struggling on 
First reach the top, close following after you 
Comes on the thfong. And higher mounts there 

are, 
Where men toil slowly up a lonely road. 



64 



Sometimes their fellows call them back, and show 
An easier, plainer path. But up those heights 
Of patience, faith and charity, thither, 
O friends, I pray you, go. Reach out a hand 
To help some other up with you, and know, 
The greatest, dearest names to men are theirs, 
Who bravely climb the mount of sacrifice. 
Where n in teen hundred years ago went up 
The One, who bore "the burden of the world." 



65 



SHE HEEDS ME NOT 

Translated from the Italian of Francesco Desiati 

She loves the flowers, the sun of spring, 
The breeze that moves on gentle w^ing. 
Gaily she decks her golden hair 

With blossoms fair. 

She loves the hills and the open plain 
In their green mantle wrapped again, 
The mournful murmuring of waves 
In ocean caves. 

She loves the tranquil moon's clear light, 
Piercing the dusky summer night. 
Her throbbing heart the spell must own 
Of music's tone. 

She loves all things in which you feel 
The strength of Nature's sweet appeal ; 
Beauty inspires her, and its power 

She craves each hour. 

But if a word from her I pray. 
Or if "I love you, I love you," I say, 
Though all beside adds joy to her lot. 
She heeds me not. 



66 



CHEERFUL VERSE 

My poet, singing not in vain 

To men, of all that's brave or fair. 
Sing oft, I pray you, songs of cheer, 
Songs that the weary long to hear ; 
For every heart knows its own pain. 
Of sorrow has each life a share. 

'Tis well that you speak boldly out, 

When there are wrongs that we must right: 
When hard and steep our way, and long; 
Yet lift in strains of faith your song; 
Not in the minor mode of doubt, — 
The major sings of hope and might. 



67 



GENIUS 

For native force what glory ours? 

Is genius won by strong endeavor? 
He that has learned to use his powers, 

And he alone, is really clever. 



68 



BRILLIANCY 

Think you, it matters from which star, to-night, 
Is shed upon our eyes the keenest ray? 

Suns may look paler than yon planet bright, 
Because so far away. 

Some souls of men are planets, some are suns; 

They move in varying orbits, wide or small ; 
Near splendors dazzle us, whilst greater ones 

We may not see at all. 



69 



OBSCURE VERSE 

If phrases dim clothe simple thought, 
What store of wisdom have you brought? 
If message high to men you bring, 
With accents clear, my poet, sing, 
Lest we yet miss the truth long sought. 



70 



A DOUBT 

If some day this, our world, alivrf and real, 
Comes toward a state that one might call ideal, 
We may have hope that all men will be good ; 
But, that all will be wise, think you, we could? 



71 



DREAMING AND DOING 

Have we lived the life we meant to live, 
When we dreamed what we would be? 

Have we given the world what we meant to give. 
Of patience and charity? 

Our dreams are sweet to remember still; 

In our ears some spirit of light 
May repeat them in whispers, which send a thrill 

Through the hush of the solemn night; 

But sweeter far, to a noble soul, 

Is the thought of deeds w^ell done, 
And a name that stands on glory's roll. 

When the battle's fought and won. 



72 



TO-DAY 

There are days of joy, and days of grief, 
Hard days of toil, sweet days of rest, 

Days long with pain, days swift and brief. 
Which shall we like to call our best? 

Shall it be some lovely day that is done. 

Or shall each to-day be the noblest one? 



73 



FIRE AND CLOUD 

If we a clear 
"Thus saith the Lord," might sometimes hear, 

As prophets heard. 

If still by day, 
Pillar of cloud would point our way, 

And through the night, 
God's fire our road or rest would light, 
How sure would be our steps, how plain His word. 

But God His own 
Still leads in ways they have not known ; 

Pillar of cloud 

Before us stands 
The daily task, which oft demands 

Our weary toil ; 
His strong fires cleanse our souls from soil; 
And cloud and fire are of God's face the shroud. 



74 



BIRDS 

A bird in the morning sky, 
The sky of an April morn, 

Beyond the maples high, 
On shining wings is borne. 

Away ! He is out of sight. 

While flitting to and fro, 
In changing shade and light, 

His bright companions go. 

Still fluttering, chirping on, 
They chatter of earthly things. 

And bright in the morning sun 

Is the flash of their brilliant wings ; 

And sweet the tender care, 

Which shapes the growing nest; 

But the bird in the upper air 
Still seems to me the best. 

And sweet the love that cares 
For home, and child, and wife, 

And great the heart that bears 
For these the toils of life; 

But best of life the hours 
That link each earthly love. 

Each loving work to powers 
That reach the life above. 



75 



ALL SHALL BE WELL 

It matters little where 

My lot on earth is cast, 
If Thou, my Lord, appoint and share 

The home where life is passed. 

If this, my earthly life. 

Is spent as pleases Thee, 
In joy or sorrow, calm or strife, 

All shall be well with me. 

Though rough may be my way. 

Thy wisdom well I know; 
With fearless trust my hand I'll lay 

In thine, and safely go. 

Something to do for Thee, 

Best Friend, give me each day; 

Thy truth, though but a word it be, 
Grant me to speak, I pray. 

Thus through each passing year. 
Thy peace with me shall dwell. 

In death, my Savior, be Thou near. 
And all shall still be well. 



76 



CONSECRATION 

Down to the Valley of Shadow I walked, 
Close to the edge of a solemn river. 

Menacing specters beside me stalked, 

Voices afar in the hollow talked, 

Echoes replied, and I heard with a shiver. 

Swiftly the mists of the evening fell, 

Hiding the waves that wev*? ceaselessly throbbing. 
Dim grew my path through the lonely dell. 
"Ah! who shall lead me? The dark waters swell. 

Master, behold me!" I cried in my sobbing. 

Out of that valley of gloom and of pain, 

Up to the hills, where the old sun is shining, 
And the green meadows lie sweet after rain, 
Led me the Master, and bids me remain 
Ever at rest in his pastures reclining. 

What is my life for, O Master, I pray? 

Life that was failing, restored, recreated. 
Out of the darkness now brought to thy day. 
Do Thou receive it, and show me thy way. 

All that remains be to Thee consecrated. 



77 



A PRAYER 

O Jesus, Lord of all, 
Hear when to thee we call ! 
Thou only knowest every heart, 
Our hopes, our joys, our tears that start. 
Sweet Friend, unseen and dear, 
Our songs, we pray thee, hear. 

In this thy world so fair, 
Surround us with thy care. 

Guide thou our steps in paths of right ; 

Upon our eyes shed forth thy light; 
And to our souls today 
Reveal thy truth, we pray. 

Whatever be our task. 

Thy powerful aid we ask. 
Joy give us, if it be thy will, 
But if we suffer, patience still. 

To pain bring sweet relief. 

Thy comfort send to grief. 

Be thou our constant Friend, 

Till mortal life shall end. 
In every hour of need be near ; 
To hands give strength, to spirits cheer. 

At last with thy great love. 

Thy peace bestow above. 



78 



COMING HOME 

What would you, lonely watcher? 

The day dawns gray and chill, 
And slowly brightening lingers 

The dusky twilight still. 

"I wait for the sun's rising, 

And for the warmer noon; 
The cool and quiet evening. 

And the September moon. 

"I cannot sleep for thinking. 
How that sweet close of day 

A friendly face will bring me 
From countries far away. 

"I thought the day more fairly 
Would break; it matters not; 

Though clouds are dark, their shadow 
Shall be in joy forgot." 

Look on, O lonely watcher! 

You see not as I see. 
Take, while you may, some comfort 

From greetings yet to be. 

Well dawns this day so darkly; 

I see afar a train 
Speed through the twilight rushing 

Its journey's end to gain. 



79 



It nears the swollen river; 

There is a plunge, a cry, 
For life a bitter struggle ; 

For it is hard to die. 

What form so lovely lieth 

So still upon the sand? 
Says one, "He was bound homeward, 

Just from a foreign land." 



80 




















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